


Like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time

by BlackSlytherin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cookies, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Hate to Love, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, but very light and not endgame, side zouis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSlytherin/pseuds/BlackSlytherin
Summary: « Fuck off, Nick, I’m not having this discussion again. If he’s coming, I’m not. Have fun. »He hung up, annoyed like every time someone mentioned Styles to him. To say that he hated him would have been an understatement.______________The second Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson met each other, it was instant hate. The rest, really, is history.





	1. Vodka ! Straight ?

**Author's Note:**

> Did I finally start writing again ? Sounds like I fucking did.  
> This is just a little AU idea I had in mind for a while now. I started writing like one or two paragraphs six months ago and totally forgot about it until very recently so I tried to get back to it again and that's the result.  
> Feel (very) free to leave comments and any opinions you may have about it. Hope you'll enjoy it !

 

Harry was at a party. Harry wasn't a party kind of person. Especially not loud parties with alcohol all over the floor and hands all over him.  
He knew following Nick was a bad idea, he knew it well enough and he still came, because he thought it would be nice this time, because he usually enjoyed dancing and having fun and going wild but not at this kind of parties where everyone was groping each other and looking for a hook-up to spend the night with. It all seemed so shallow and cheap, so... _Pointless_. They were empty, all so empty, only driven by sex and alcohol and oh how Harry despised this kind of parties.  
Also, Nick left him alone, and Harry hated him.  
To be fair, he was the one who insisted on him getting fun and not worrying about him, but he was feeling grumpy so he decided that it was Nick who left him indeed, even if he didn't really hate him.  
He wanted to go back to his flat and put on some real, nice, relaxing music and get away from these harsh neon lights.  
He'd even add some candles.  
He needed to get away from this place that clashed so much with him, who he was, even what he looked like. And it showed. People were giving him weird looks, funny looks, like he was some bizarre thing out of place at this party, and maybe they were right, and he wanted to leave.  
But he couldn't, because he promised Nick, so he had to stay at least until his friend was ebriated enough for him to find an excuse to make them leave, and, knowing Nick's incredible stamina when it came to parties, that could take hours.

He sighed, picking up an empty cup to fill. _"When in Rome,"_ he thought bitterly. Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget where he was. Or maybe, he would forget himself as well, throw himself in the middle of the scene and become one of these people, one of these bodies. And so that's what he rightfully did, moving away from the buffet before the crowd ate him alive.  
But then, as he was sipping -cheap- vodka from his giant-size cliché red cup, someone bumped on him so hard he felt the world shaking for a few seconds.

There was a moment when everything was buzzing and all he could see were shadows dancing in front of him, and something cold pouring on him, getting under his shirt and freezing his skin.  
When he got all his senses back, he looked down at the mess. His cup had literally flown from his hands and he could now feel the drink dripping grossly from his hair, and there was a big stain on his shirt and things couldn't have been worse, really, because that was arguably one of his most favorite shirts and it was now ruined forever, sticking to his already sweaty body like some sort of cliché movie scene, and it was all because of one person, and that person had insolent blue eyes that were scrutinizing him at this exact moment, and yeah, maybe he was taken aback for a second there, because he wasn't sure he'd ever seen eyes _so blue_.  
He looked back at him, brows furrowed, thoughts flowing and words rushing to the tip of his tongue as he was trying to find the most appropriate thing to say.

« Heh ? »

He’d had brighter moments.

« You've got, like, beer in your hair mate. » That was the blue-eyed guy speaking.

Oh did he now ?

« It's vodka actually. »

«Yeah, whatever, it's kinda gross. Also, it smells bad. »

Was that little shit really-

« Well, it's your fault. You bumped on me. »

« Yeah _well_ you could have paid attention, you look like shit now. »

So he was insulting him now. Great. If he had just apologized, Harry wouldn't have minded him ruining his outfit, at least not as much, partially because he seemed really drunk, and because Harry himself was feeling kinda dizzy and the asshole was, in fact, attractive. But now he was attacking him as if the whole accident was his fault and that was totally unfair, and Harry hated him. He hated his too insolent smile and his too blue eyes and his too thick accent. He just wanted to leave. Go home.

« Can't you just say you're sorry and fuck off already ? » he blurted, annoyed.

And that wanker just laughed.

« Get that stick off your butt love, doesn't suit you, and it's just a drink anyway. » he said with the most annoying smirk stick to his face, obviously proud of himself, and Harry oh so hated him.

And that was when Nick appeared, sensing the tension from afar. He stood next to Harry, wrapping his arm around his shoulders, smiling broadly as if defusing a bomb that was about to burst - and maybe it was.

« So you guys have already met or do you need me to introduce you ? » he said, his tone too cheerful to sound natural, obviously choosing to ignore the deadly glares they were giving each other - or rather, that Harry was giving while the other guy was just smiling like he was having the time of his life.

« No thank you, I was just leaving. » His tone was cold, and _clearly_ annoyed, if he could take the hint. Engaging in a conversation with that guy was the last thing he wanted.

« Already ? But we just got in ! »

Not the puppy eyes, God.

« You can stay. But I don't like it here and my shirt is ruined. Also my hair is gross apparently, so I don't have much reason to stay any longer. » He tried to soften his voice, reminding himself that Nick had no part in what happened and he didn't have to ruin his night as well.

« Alright - okay. But like, you text me when you get home and everything, alright ? »

« Of course, don't worry about that. »

He hugged him tight, mumbling when his shirt stuck to his skin, making it feel colder than the atmosphere around them. But as he turned around to leave, he realised the guy wasn't there anymore. Frowning, he looked around them, but he was nowhere to be found, and still he could have sworn he was still standing there with them a few seconds ago.  
Letting out a sight, he let go of Nick's arm that he had kept holding all along and walked towards the exit. Blue eyes lingered on his mind for a few seconds before he brushed away these thoughts and opened the door.

 

  
_________________

 

 

The alarm clock went off, loud, blurting a sound Louis learned to hate over all the mornings it woke him up and took him away from whatever sweet dreams he was having at the moment.  
He rubbed his eyes, still half asleep, wishing he could stay in bed for the rest of the day, if not forever. But he had his shift at the coffee shop and he already called in sick too many times over the past few weeks to risk missing his job once more. And so, battling a fiest headache that didn’t plan on leaving and regretting every lifechoice he ever made, he shot out from his bed, forcing an enthousiastic smile on his face, only to fall back again between the sheets, closing his eyes for "five more minutes".

Seventy minutes and two coffee cups forced down his throat later, he was behind his counter, forcing a smile at the customers and trying his best not to mess up any order. He was in the middle of serving a drink - with the most polite smile he could offer and multiple glances at the tip jar so the bitch would take the hint - when the door opened to reveal a familiar face. He grinned a bit as Nick was walking towards him.

« You know you can’t keep coming here whenever you want free drinks, right ? »

« And here I thought it would be nice of me to check after you after drinking your arse off and practically falling into my arms last night ! »

« Haha, how funny of you. What d’ya want, dickhead ? »

Nick and him weren’t exactly friends. When they first met, a few years ago, they instantly hated each other. Nick was everything Louis disliked in a person, and he, in return, seemed to particularly enjoy driving him insane. Eventually that hatred shifted into a weird kind of friendship after a drunken night together, and now Louis was using Nick for parties and Nick was using Louis for drinks and everything was great.

« Black coffee, I need a lil' pump, my head hurts like hell. »

« Yeah, tell me about it, I can’t even think strai – _don’t_ even _think_ of making that joke. » he said, right as Nick was opening his mouth. That was when he noticed that Nick wasn't alone. The other guy, who was standing right next to him, was tall, even taller than Nick, and that said something because even on his tip toes Louis was still shorter than him - a detail he never missed to remind him, as if Louis could have forgotten.  
But his height wasn't actually what peaked Louis' attention, nor was it that weird "déjà-vu" feeling that was creeping through his mind, like he had already been standing with those exact same two people before, like there was some detail he had to remember but just couldn't.  
No, what startled him was the fact that the guy was looking at him. And he meant really looking, his green eyes piercing through him so intensely it made him feel uneasy, with what looked like disbelief in them, like he was surprised to see him, and something that weirdly looked like anger.

« Er, can I get you something or.. ? »

« Yeah, _vodka_. » The guy opened his mouth for the first time since he came in, his voice deep and slow, with a raspiness to it that tingled something in Louis' brain, emphasizing on the word « vodka » as if there was something behind it, as if he was telling him something really important that he should have picked up. But Louis didn’t have the faintest idea of what he was thinking about, and was starting to think that guy, even if he looked positively gorgeous, was just really, really weird.

« Sorry, we don’t, er, serve alcoholic beverages here, and besides it’s too early in the morning for anyone in their right mind to drink vodka. Something else, maybe ? »

Maybe he went too harsh, but the look Nick’s friend kept giving him started to make him really uncomfortable.

« Fine. A caramel macchiatto. »

« Alright… You can sit at a table until it’s ready. »

« I'd rather wait here. Is it a problem ? »

His tone was gutsy, daring him to object. But he didn’t. Instead, he answered a vague « Do as you please » and went on the other side of the counter to prepare their drinks. But as he was getting the coffee done, he couldn’t keep his mind from thriving to Nick’s friend, the way he was standing, the grain of his voice, how familiar he seemed. Sometimes he couldn’t fight that need to look at him, but everytime he did so the guy’s eyes were fixed on him, like he was studying him, and the longer it went on, the more uneasy he felt, until the drinks were finally ready and he let out a sigh of relief. The whole situation was just awkward, with that guy staring at him like he killed his whole family and Nick laughing at his side like he knew some big secret that would change their life forever if he let it out.

Thinking back about this exact moment, Louis should have seen the signs. Something was off, and maybe if he had picked on it sooner, he could have done something, but as he was handing them their drinks, his mind was empty of all suspicions. And so his suprise was complete when Nick’s friend took his cup, contemplated it for a few songs before pouring it all on Louis’ head.

He jerked away, taken by surprise, cursing a loud « What the fuck ? » as the cold drink started to run on his skin, getting through his clothes. He looked up to the two men, aggravating Nick’s laughter, trying not to jump at the other guy's throat.

« What the fuck is wrong with you ?! »

« It’s just a drink anyway. »

« It’s just a d- I’m gonna kick your fucking ass you fucking idiot. »

He was really doing his best to calm himself as to not endanger his job, but that guy was really, really testing his patience, looking at him as calmly as ever, the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. And then he was approaching him, his smirk turning into a smile, until he was so close that Louis could feel his breath on his own mouth, and every ounce of anger suddenly dissipated and he realized his eyes were green, so green.

« Your hair stinks. »

And the anger resurfaced.

He was left standing there like a total idiot as the guy got out of the shop, Nick and laughing as ever.

« Was that your idea ? »

« I swear to god I didn’t have the faintest idea he was going to do that but oh god – that was epic. » And of course his laughter wouldn’t stop.

« How the fuck are you friends with that guy anyway ? He’s mental ! I’ve never even met him and he just comes and- »

« _Never met him_ ? Oh that, that right here is the best fucking plot twist ever. »

  
This was the second time Louis Tomlinson met Harry Styles.

 

 


	2. No, gay !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this in class whenever the teacher wasn't looking (and falling asleep in my house whenever i thought about seriously writing) and I hope you'll enjoy it as well !

« You’re coming to Greg’s party tonight ? »

« Will _he_ be there ? »

« Who ? »

« Don’t act stupid, y’know who. »

« Yeah, he’s probably coming. »

« Then you’ll have to survive this party without me I’m afraid. »

« Come on Tomlinson, how long this thing of yours will last anyway ? It’s a real pain in the ass. »

« He started it ! He’s the asshole, not me ! »

« Technically you did, that first night. »

« I was drunk and it was a fucking accident ! I don’t remember any of it anyway ! He’s just sick, holding a grudge like that. »

« Like you’re not holding it yourself. »

« Fuck off, Nick, I’m not having this discussion again. If he’s coming, I’m not. Have fun. »

He hung up, annoyed like every time someone mentioned Styles to him. To say that he hated him would have been an understatement.

Every single time they ended up in the same room, it resulted in some sort of fight, no matter how resolved they were to keep their calm and not let it happen. It was like something was always driving them to each other, a hate so strong nothing could calm it, and it only grew stronger with every time they fought, to the point where no one could even bare going out with them, and they ended up coming to an implicit agreement to do their best to never meet again. But even with that, « fate » seemed to always find a way to bring them together.

Sighing, he laid back on his bed, turning the telly on. It’s not like he wanted to go out anyway. He was all fine at home, with a pack of beer and hundreds of programs at his disposition.

______________________

 

« You fucking came ! »

« Figured you’d be bored to death without me. »

He laughed as Nick pulled him for a hug, standing on the tip of his toes just to get to his height. He just hoped no one else noticed that.

 « Not that much, I had good company so far. » he answered, winking in a you-know-who-i'm-talking-about way.

Louis' attitude shifted immediately. He pulled back a little, looking around before turning his attention back to Nick.

  « He's here ? »

He had tried to seem as nonchalant as possible, but the look Nick gave him told him his false casualness had not deceived anyone.

  « Yeah, he's in the other room, the one with the veranda. »

  « I guess I'll stay away from the veranda, then. »

Nick didn't seem to believe him.

___________

 

He was right.

For his defense, Louis really didn't plan on engaging with Styles. He even did a good job at avoiding him for the majority of the night, talking and laughing with the people he knew in there. But the more drinks he chugged down his throat, the less he could remember why exactly he was avoiding said veranda, until he just forgot he was even supposed to avoid it at all and entered the room, cheering loudly for no apparent reason.

A few people cheered back, just because, and he served himself another cup, laughing at something someone just said he didn't even hear. That was when he saw him.  
Styles was standing just there, a few feet away from him, staring directly at him with a look of surprise on his face. Did he not expect to see him there ?  
For his defense, Louis himself hadn't expected to be there, and by all means he wasn't supposed to, but at that moment he was way too drunk to remember that, in fact he was way too drunk to remember anything, and so without thinking twice he started walking towards Styles, watching his brows furrow as he was getting closer.

  « What the fuck are you doing here ? »

  « It's not your party, innit ? I'm not allowed to be the same place you are or what ? »

  « Are you drunk ? »

  « Aren't you ? »

  « There's obviously one of us who still has control over himself, and that's not you. »

  « Oh so you still didn't get it off, 'm I right ? » , he smirked, knowing well Styles wouldn't resist his curiosity, even when he knew he wouldn't like the answer.  
There was a moment where none of them said anything, Styles dying to ask and Louis dying to answer.

  « _What_ are you talking about ? »

He sounded exasperated, and that only made the moment even more enjoyable to Louis who took his time, eyeing him up and down with an air of disdain before finally opening his mouth.

  « That stick you got in your butt. »

The effect was immediate. Styles' face got incredibly red incredibly quick, and it seemed like he was deciding on where to punch him first.

He loved how easy it was to get a reaction out of him. He always took everything so seriously and Louis' provocations never failed to drive him insane, which the latter took to his advantage because there was nothing funnier than seeing to where he could push his limits before he lost control.

But this time it didn't look like Styles was ready to punch him just yet.

  « _Why the fuck_ are you doing this ? Do you get off on being a fucking bitch ? »

  « Wow, doing insults now ? Bad, bad Styles, didn't know you were into dirty talk, but then again, should've guessed. 'Like calling me a bitch ? Want me to be your pretty little bitch then ? »

He hadn't meant anything by it, at least nothing more than the usual "driving Harry Styles insane" thing he had going on. He wasn't, however, expecting the way his hand fell on his shoulder, pushing him against the wall with too much hate in his eyes, standing so close he could feel him against his ear as he breathed out, voice so low Louis was forever going to doubt if it really happened or if he had dreamt it all.

  « You'd like that, wouldn't you ? » Words, those were only words, but enough words to send shivers down Louis' spine. « Let me assure you, Tomlinson, that if you were my bitch, I would break you. I would make you scream so hard you'd never be able to speak again. I would fuck that cunty little attitude out of you, but before, I would make you beg for it, and you _will_ beg, Tomlinson, you'll beg like you never did before, I can promise you that. »

  « Let me go. » He wasn't sure he knew how to breathe anymore. It was all too much, with Styles lips brushing against his neck and his own dick getting painfully hard.

  « Funny this, because your mouth is saying something, but your cock is saying otherwise. »

He wanted to disappear. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to punch him in the face. He wanted him to take him right there and -

  « Let me go, Styles. »

  « Beg. »

  « W-what ? »

  « You want me to let you go ? Beg for it. Be the good bitch I know you are and beg. »

And as if to further his point, he pressed his palm right between Louis' thighs, reminding him exactly just how hard he was, how hard he wanted that. Maybe he could just let it go.

  « Harry - »

  « Say it, » he interrupted, drawing his lips along his neck without quite touching him, just the faint illusion of a poisoned kiss against his skin. « Say it. _Now_. »

  « Please. »

And it was back again, that fucking smirk.  
He didn't say a word. He let him go, and Louis, too ashamed, ran away.

They fought numerous times after that. But they never mentioned that night again, and there were times, although rare, when Louis would forget it ever happened.

________________________________

 

« Joteya » was a fairly bizarre shop located in the depts of Doncaster. None of Louis’ friends knew about it, in fact it seemed like no one in England knew about it, yet there wasn’t a time where he went in and found it empty, and today was no exception. It wasn’t exactly buzzing with customers but he preferred it that way. He liked the quietness of the place, how everyone was too caught up browsing through the racks to be noisy. He remembered the first time he cam here. He was desperate to get his hands on an early edition of one of his favorite comics when a friend told him about this friend who had a friend who knew someone who used to work in a « weird shop that had all kinds of weird stuff ». Whatever you needed, they said, you’d fin dit there, hidden between two piles of eclectic objects. Louis did find his comic, and at such a low price he almost felt guilty buying it. He came back a week later and spent almost an hour looking through the stacks of comic books. The third time he came, his comics collection was freshly updated so he took his time to look around the shop more closely. He reckoned it was a thrift shop of some sort, with surprisingly low prices. That third time, he decided that would be his favorite place. He was still holding onto that decision almost a year later.  
Today, he was looking for something very specific ; David Bowies’ Diamond Dogs vinyl record. He’d looked around in every music shop in town but no one had it. Online sellers were rare, and when he found one, he usually demanded such exorbitant prices that there was no chance for Louis to get it. Joteya was his last hope and, luckily, they had a whole music section full of vinyls and CDs and cassettes.  
But after half an hour of looking thoroughly, he had to accept the truth ; it wasn’t there. Maybe he held his hopes too high up. Maybe he couldn’t find anything he wanted in that shop. Maybe he’d just have to give up and go home.  
Or maybe not.

Because, look, Louis was never much of a believer. Not in fate, not in destiny, not in serendipity, certainly not in magic. But when the vinyl suddenly appeared on the top of the shelf as he was about to walk away, he was ready to believe in anything. Until he looked up and realised that anything was _Harry Styles_. Harry Styles who had his fingers still wrapped on the corner of the vinyl as he was putting it in its place. Harry Styles who still hadn’t noticed Louis looking at him with wide eyes and a wider mouth, gaze flipping between him and the miraculous vinyl.

« What are you doing here ? » His tone was a bit agressive, immediatly catching Harry’s attention who looked down at him with disbelief, his gaze then slowly shifting into a more suspicious one.

« What are _you_ doing here ? »

« I could ask you the same thing. »

« I’m… pretty sure you just did. » He chuckled. Chuckled.

« I- fuck off, Styles. »

He looked away for a second, slightly embarrassed and feeling his eyes on him. Like many times before, his brain wandered to that party, to his body against his, to his lips burning his skin, to his words he never really forgot.

« Whatever. Are you getting that ? » He waved awkardly to the vinyl, remembering where he was. And who he was with.

« Oh, erm, no, I was looking for something to get my sister for her birthday but I don’t think she’s into Bowie that much. You want it ? »

« Yes ! » he shouted a bit too excitedly, his cheeks automatically reddening from even more embarrassment. Like he needed that.

« It’s yours then, I guess. » He handed it to him with the slightest smile, like he was trying to be polite but not too much because… Because.

It was weird though, that was the thing. Being civil with him felt weird, and the urge to flip him up was growing stronger with each second passing, but he couldn’t possibly do it when he was offering him what he’d been looking for for so long. If the roles were reversed, he felt like he’d buy it solely to piss him off.

« So, erm, you come here often ? » He was trying, alright. He sucked at small talk, but he was trying his best, and Styles should be really grateful because he didn’t want anything more than to grip the vinyl and run away with it.

« You don’t have to do this. I already let you have it. »

Oh, okay. That was unexpected. He didn’t sound particularly angry or resentful or anything. Just… Neutral.

« No I wasn’t trying to… » he attempted, quickly shutting up because he really was trying to and Styles wasn’t a fool. « Thank you, » he finally said, dropping the pretenses. « I’ve been looking for it for so long, you have no idea. »

« You like Bowie ? » He could swear his eyes lit up saying those words. Pretty, pretty eyes.

«  So much. He’s like… I don’t know, God. »

That got him another chuckle and he looked at him more attentively, following the way his mouth twisted upward and the hit of a dimple started forming on his right cheek. Right now he looked completely different, like Louis just met a whole other Harry Styles he never knew existed.

« Cute, » he muttered, more for himself than anyone, and definitely not expecting to be heard. Except Harry’s cheeks were now a light pink and he definitely, definitely heard him.

«  What did you say ? »

«  Er, nothing. Doesn’t matter, I- » Alright, he was panicking. « I gotta go. Thanks so much for the Bowie, I owe you, like, big time, » he said slowly walking away to the counter, trying not to get flustered by Styles’ amused smile.

He could feel his gaze burning through his back as he was paying, and he fought hard to avoid looking at him while leaving. 


	3. I Made Cookies

  
He wasn’t exactly sure what changed. He almost didn’t notice it at first. It was it the small details, the way his face didn’t automatically go cold whenever he entered the room, how they were more often than not at the same parties when they usually always tried to avoid it, how he would say hi to him and not snicker every time he opened his mouth. It was subtle, and he didn’t exactly feel the change, there was never a moment when a bulb lit up in his mind and he thought _« Harry Styles is being nice to me ! »_ , and yet, without even realizing it, he was being just as nice, awkwardly waving to greet him, not interrupting him with some snarky comment when he was speaking, being civil in the rare occasions he addressed him directly.   
He didn’t know why or how or even when, but somewhere along the road, Harry Styles and him became friends.

It wasn’t bad, that was the thing. He could even say he enjoyed it, because Harry Styles was a fun person to be around when he wasn’t doing his best to be disagreable. He was fun, he was charming, he was interesting, he was everything, really, and he had great music taste. But Louis soon found out that, unlike himself, Harry’s passion wasn’t music, at least not only.

 

It was when he went to his place for the first time after Harry had drank too much to drive and he’d proposed himself to drive him home. He’d invited him in to thank him and Louis discovered Harry Styles was a fucking book nerd, with a library that would make Beauty and The Beast jealous. When he asked him about it, he just shrugged it off with an embarrassed smile. « I have a thing for classic litterature » was what he'd said, and Louis had found that endearing. He ended up spending the night that time because Harry felt bad for making him drive all the way in the middle of the night, and gave him pajamas and his own bedroom, and when he woke up it was to the smell of breakfast – a real, warm breakfast like he never learned to make.

The second thing he learned about Harry Styles was that he wore glasses. He showed up at the café unexpectedly once, and ordered a caramel macchiato. Louis’ mind immediately went back to _that_ unfamous day, and he could feel that he was thinking about it too. But things had changed, hadn’t they ? He took his order and when it was ready, he went to serve him and found him sat at a table with a book in his hands and glasses on his nose, too absorbed by whatever he was reading to notice him. Louis didn’t want to disturb him so he just put his drink down and left without a word. He saw a him from the counter, a few minutes later, looking up and finding the cup on the table. He looked around, confused, and his gaze met Louis on the other side of the room. He smiled at him warmly and mouthed a « thank you ».   
He tipped him five dollars.

The third thing was arguably the best. It was a few weeks only after he came to the café. He had become a regular and he would always come in the morning with a different book in his hands and spend hours reading, sometimes talking to Louis when he had no customer to serve. Sometimes Louis would give him a free muffin. One time Harry brought him cookies and Louis had laughed because there was plenty of it at the café and he could get some any time he wanted. But then Harry’s cheeks went incredibly red and he told him in the smallest voice that he baked them. For him. He baked cookies and brought them to Louis. And suddenly Louis’ free muffins seemed ridiculous and so not enough, because that was such a sweet gesture and Harry was just too sweet and – that was the best thing – the cookies tasted so great. He’d already had a taste of Harry’s cooking when he made him breakfast, but cookies, sweet sweet pastry, that was a whole other thing and it was just so good he had to fight hard not to eat them all at once and leave some for after. After that Harry kept making him cookies (he made him cupcakes once) and Louis kept eating them. And it was great.

The fourth thing had Louis speechless. He’d complained to Harry once of how he couldn’t cook a simple egg when he brought him cookies, and Harry proposed to teach him stuff. He felt weird at first because it was the first time he implicitely proposed to spend time with him aside from their café routine or the times they would meet at some friend’s party. He knew they were friends now, but sometimes it was still weird to look at him and think « I like this person now, we’re proper mates ». He still accepted though, and two days later he was knocking at Harry’s door, Harry who greeted him with an apron and a sheepish smile. He taught him to make pasta, because it was easy and he was hungry and didn’t want Louis to fuck up what would be their dinner. Because, yeah, they were having dinner. In a way, Louis was cooking dinner. For Harry and him. It sounded like something he didn’t want to name yet.  
Harry argued if Louis was making dinner, he would make dessert. And so while Louis was nervously checking every two minutes if the pasta was cooked enough, Harry started whipping cream in a gigantic bowl, tons and tons of cream that made Louis’ sweet tooth hurt and his mouth water just by looking at it.That was when he heard it. Harry was humming. Harry, totally into his whipping task, was humming, forgetting all about Louis’ presence. And then he wasn’t anymore, because he was now singing, and Louis had never heard anything more beautiful, more mesmerizing than his voice. He forgot all about dinner, forgot about everything, and stood there for long minutes listening to Harry singing.   
Maybe the pasta ended up a bit overcooked. Harry still said it was great, and he finished his plate with a smile, showering him with compliments. Louis complimented his voice.

  
He'd come directly from work and had left his car at home, so Harry proposed to drive him back. They both sang along the radio on the way home.

 

It took months before anything changed between them. 

Louis came to wish it never did.

 

It started with a fully drunk Louis, downing one vodka shot after the other, laughing with strangers in a too crowded house that started to smell like sweat and alcohol and puke.   
At this point he didn’t remember whose house he was at, and some part of him wasn’t sure he ever knew. A normal party night, then.

Harry was there too. He came accross him almost two hours ago but, as much as he wanted to steal him for himself, he was there with a group of people that weren’t Louis’ friends and he didn’t want to intrude. He kept bumping into him every now and then, but they only exchanged small words and bright smiles that went increasingly drunker and hazier each time before going back to their respective friends.

Except Louis’ eyes now fell on Harry when he wasn’t looking for him, and he found him dancing in a corner with some guy. So, so close. And Louis hated it, hated the way that guy was grinding against him, shameless and unaware of what the vision had caused inside Louis' mind. He tried to look away, getting angrier the longer he kept staring, but at that exact moment Harry looked up, as if he was feeling his presence, and locked eyes with him. And it was worse, so much worse, because he knew Harry could see it, the thing he couldn’t even begin to admit to himself, and he was playing with it, holding his gaze and daring him to look away, moving slowly against the guy, or maybe it was him, maybe his mind was slowing the world down so he could keep looking at his eyes, so he could keep looking at him an anger he couldn't (or wouldn't) explain shimmering through his veins and taking over him.  
He abrubtly broke eye contact and turned his back to the scene - to Harry, and found his way to the kitchen. He noticed a bottle of vodka from the corner of his eyes.  
  


.

 

Maybe the last two shots weren’t that good of an idea. He could feel the walls spinning around him and he could swear someone fucked with the ground because it wasn’t as steady as he remembered. He needed air. He needed air before the functional part of his brain stopped functioning altogether and he passed out on a stranger’s sofa.

He spotted a balcony near the kitchen entrance and made his way through the sweaty bodies, not without difficulty. Frat parties were the worst. He would never go back to one. Not for a long time. At least two weeks.   
The first breeze of fresh air was like a slap in the face. He exhaled slowly, his eyes getting used to the darkness outside, and drank a mouthful of the drink he didn't realise he still had in hand, even with the really loud voices in his head that kept telling him not to. He could still hear the music, but it was relatively attenuated by the thick walls and his head hurt significantly less. At least there was that.   
The balcony was almost empty, at the exception of a group of people smoking quietly on his left and a way too recognizable silhouette on his far right. But before he could decide himself, Harry Styles turned to face him, and it was becoming a habit, really, because they were looking at each other again and forgetting about the party and the world.   
He blinked numbly, Harry’s soft smile making him forget all about his anger for a few seconds.   
But it didn't last.   
Because Harry Styles was now standing in front of him, Harry Styles who looked at him eyes bright with the reflection of the stars, Harry Styles he hated for so long, Harry Styles who, mere minutes ago, was grinding against some guy that wasn’t him.  
Louis was angry again.   
He knew he shouldn't be. He knew he had no right to be. But it wasn't - he wasn't, fuck, he didn't even _know_. It was just all so abrupt and sudden and if only he could think straight without all this noise in his head and Harry's eyes on him with too much kindness because of course he was the kind one, of course he'd smile to him when Louis wanted to rip his head off.  
   
            « Want one ? » Harry pulled his cigarettes pack, offering it to Louis who just looked away without answering, trying not to let his anger show. That, at least, left the taller one startled, and he lowered his hand after a few seconds, muttering a « fine » before lighting a cigarette for himself, the flame briefly lightning his face, increasing the shadows between his furrowed brows. They stood there in silence, immobile except for the ocasional smoke leaving Harry’s mouth.   
   
            « You’re drunk, » he stated after what felt like an eternity, his disapproving tone, like he wasn’t drunk himself, irritating Louis.  
   
            « No shit, seems like you _do_ have a brain. »  
   
Harry’s eyes immediately darkened and he suddenly looked distant, as distant as he’d always been before. Louis could feel he did something wrong, but he was too far gone to understand the extent of it.  
   
            « I don’t like it when you’re drunk. »

The implications of these words found their way through his blurred mind at last and a rush of guilt envaded his body. He was being rude. He was being rude and he couldn’t stop himself because he was angry. Harry was making him angry and he had no right to.  
   
            « I think I’d better go. Goodnight, Louis. »

  
            « Yeah, I’m sure you have someone better to do. »  
   
That was dumb. That was incredibly dumb and reckless and he prayed the gods Harry would let it slip but he didn’t.  
   
           _« What did you say ? »_

  
            « Nothing.» He looked away, anger now mixing with shame. God, please.

  
            « Is there something you want to tell me, Louis ? Because I'm not going to ask twice. »

The way he was looking at him, almost like he was begging him to talk, to speak up and fucking say it, was the worst part of it. He didn't want complicated, he was fine being friends with him. He didn't like what was happening because he wasn't ready for it, he wasn't ready for this. So he did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing he had some control over, the only thing that felt _natural_ with Harry.

            « Don’t look so offended here. I’m just glad you have something else up your arse now. » He regretted these word the second they left his mouth, Harry jerking away from him, the feeling of betrayal far too obvious in his eyes for the need to express it out loud. Louis was an asshole. But as awful as it felt, there was something beyond satisfaction in being the one to cause the hurt Harry was feeling. And he just couldn't stop it, now. He just wanted more and more, he wanted to feel that viscious pleasure again of driving Harry Styles out of his mind. It was the only thing he was really good at. And right now, not sober enough to think of the consequences, it felt great.

            « That’s fucking childlish of you, Tomlinson. » _Tomlinson_. It was just so easy to slip back into the old hatred, and he was enjoying it.

            « I don't know what you're trying to do, » Louis could tell he was trying his best to keep his calm, giving him chances he kept diving away from. « But I'm not playing one of your shitty games. Cut the fucking bullshit. »

And it was fine, really. He wanted him to cut the bullshit ? That, he could do. He could do very well. He still had his glass in hand, Harry's hair looked soft under the moonlight, and it just seemed logical at the time. The best way to get a reaction out of him. The best way to have fun.   
He stood on the tip of his toes, because Harry was still annoyingly taller, and with a smile, he calmly poured his drink on his head, letting it drip on his shocked face with the carelessness only a drunk mind could have.

            « Gave you beer this time. Does wonders for hair I've heard. »

He was an asshole. But as Harry's fists closed on his collar, pulling him closer before punching him hard, just long enough to see all the rage and hurt that were finally getting out, Louis smiled to himself. That was something he could do. That was something he knew. It was safe. He just didn't fully realise yet that this marked the end of his friendship with Harry Styles.


	4. It's like playing suck and blow with no card

He never saw him again.

It took him a while to realize that Harry wasn’t around anymore. He was so used to their fights that it didn’t occur to him at first that their newly improved relationship didn’t include that part of the old one. When he did, though, no amount of reasoning could stop the guilt rushing through his body, because Harry was obviously hurt and he only had himself to blame.

He wanted to talk to him, but he realized bitterly that he never cared to get his number. He wanted to ask after him, but his pride restrained him from letting ayone know what happened. He wanted to do many things, but he did none, convincing himself that Harry would eventually come around and he would apologize and make it up to him. All he had to do was wait.

Except it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t that not seeing him was particularily heartbreaking, but he hadn’t realized until then how present he was in his life.

The first time he felt his absence was on a specifically boring morning at work. There were barely any customers and even less distractions and Harry’s seat at what had became his assigned table was noticeably empty. Had he been there, he would be telling some corny joke, the ones only he knew, and Louis would have laughed at how stupid it was and Harry would have looked extremely pleased with himself. Or he would have been busy working or reading, and Louis would have sat next to him and enjoyed his company in silence, and sometimes Harry would look up and smile to him, one of these warm smiles that would make Louis get him a few muffins they’d end up sharing because Harry wouldn’t accept being the only one eating.

It would have been better if he was there. But he wasn’t. Eventually, he got used to that as well. Harry’s seat filled up with different people until it wasn’t Harry’s seat anymore. Louis stopped looking up at every face that entered the shop hoping to see dark curls and green eyes. Harry’s presence at the shop now felt like a distant memory.  
Harry’s presence in his _life_ , however, took a little more time for him to forget.

It was, once again, in the little things, because Louis was used to look over the little things and it often came back to bite him in the ass. It was in a song they would have sang together one, or the way someone would say a word in that exact same tone Harry would use, the corny jokes he’d hear and not even pretend to find funny when he would have laughed if Harry was the one to say them just to see those _dimples_ again.

One time, he craved cookies. He’d never been a fan of cookies before, but that one time, he wanted them desperately. He went to four different shops and bakeries, but the cookies were never right. It wasn’t that they tasted bad, but there was always _something_ missing, something he couldn’t get his finger on. He did, however, get his finger on it eventually. He’d preferred if he never did. He still refused to admit to himself that he was having feelings for him. Even less that those feelings were the leason he may have lost him.

Even parties were different. He’d spent the first ones looking for Harry almost as much as he was dreading him, until he figured out he wasn’t going to come and downed enough alcohol to pretend he was enjoying himself. Even Nick was different, which wasn’t that surprising, knowing he had always been Harry’s friend before being his. He was more reserved, his words more calculated, his smile faker, too cheerful to look genuine, which only showed, Louis thought, how hurt Harry must have been. He couldn’t dare ask him.

Eventually, he stopped going to parties altogether, tired of the guilt and only remembering the hangovers. He started spending his Saturday nights at home, mostly writing and cooking (or trying to), because his mom had written him a notebook worth of recipes she made him promise to try so he wouldn’t keep relying on takeaways. He realized it felt better that way. He never even liked drinking, he never did outside of parties, it had always just been a way to get the party going.

He gave himself a pat in the back for starting a healthy lifestyle (nevermind the ashtray in the living room that never got empty). He put up an advert for a flatmate, because the house was big and he needed the company since his last flatmate left, almost two years ago. Louis had been afraid at the time that he wouldn’t be able to pay the rent, but he had gotten his Starbucks job around the same time and was able to afford it. But now isolated from the outside world, he realized he wouldn’t be against some kind of presence in the house. He’d met Zayn, who was quiet and proposed to pay extra if Louis let him tag the walls. Louis agreed on the condition he’d take care of his room too. He also refused the extra money, because Zayn was basically asking to redecorate the house with zero investment from Louis. They now lived in a colorful flat that occasionally smelled of pot and always smelled of ashes, and Zayn became Louis’ ninth favorite person after his mum, his sisters, his brother and Bowie, and he was almost certain Zayn loved him just as much. So much, in fact he once showed him his sketchbook, one he never shared with anyone, the one he’d spend hours on and would hide between two floorboards (Louis pretended he didn’t know about it), and in return Louis showed him his own notebook, with all of his short stories, his random lyrics and random doodles. Zayn seemed extremely touched by the gesture, and it made Louis realize just how lonely the guy was, how lonely they both were, really. « _Nevermore_ », he told himself, and he ordered pizza and inaugurated an impromptu Marvel marathon that lasted the whole night and the better part of the following day. When they finally turned off the TV, they were barely awake and Louis thought maybe, after all, life was enjoyable.

From that moment Louis and Zayn became almost inseparable. One Saturday, he wrote Zayn a whole poem praising his lashes. The week after, they both put their aprons on and baked the most amazing pot brownies. (His mom came to visit him that week and almost ate one, but we don’t speak about that accident.)  
What we speak about, however, is how Louis’ mom immediately fell in love with Zayn, much to Louis’ delight. His sisters, who all invaded his flat the week he was graduating uni, loved him just as much (Daisy blushed whenever he even _looked_ at her, Phoebe played with her hair everytime he entered the room, Lottie tried to flirt with him once and Fizzie was the only one, the little twins excluded, who kept a minimum of dignity and didn’t seem affected by Zayn’s pakistani charm). Louis found it as hilarious as it was uncomfortable for Zayn, and it lasted the whole time the girls were here, much to his delight. Now whenever he looked at his graduation pictures, he was overwhelmed by a sense of happiness and lightness and _family_. Because Zayn was family.

Maybe things weren’t perfect, maybe he was spending an unhealthy amount of time in his flat, maybe his diploma was dusty, maybe Zayn and him had some fights, but he was enjoying it way too much to care, and it wasn’t until Nick came to the café one morning that he realized he hadn’t seen him in months, too caught up in his own dynamic duo to keep caring about anything that wasn’t them.

Nick looked happy to see him and greeted him warmly, and Louis couldn’t detect any fakeness in that. They talked for the better part of the morning, catching up on each other’s lives again. That morning, Nick told him between two sips of coffee that Harry found a job in London and left a few weeks ago.  
Louis didn’t care.  
It seemed like whatever mourning process he had been in was over, and Harry Styles was nothing more than a memory, a simple crush he thought was more and almost lost his mind over.  
And just like that, Harry Styles was out of his life for good.

 

 

.

 

  
    « You haven’t been writing. »

    « How do you know ? »  
  
    « ‘Been watching you. »

    « Obsessed with me yet ? »

    « Would you blame me ? »

Louis smiled for all answer, simply taking the joint Zayn was offering him. For a while there was only silence between the two, but none of them cared. It was nice.

    « Just a lack of inspo, » he finally said. « Feels like I’m just going in circles. »

    « Yeah. »

That was it. Zayn never asked, never pushed. It had been startling at first, but Louis learned to appreciate it. Zayn, he discovered, sometimes knew what he needed before he was aware of it himself.

    « You graduated five months ago. »

    « I know. »

    « Just saying. »

He didn’t need to elaborate, for Louis knew far too well what he was talking about. He used to think he’d have his life sorted out by the time he’d graduate uni, but he came to discover that life can’t be just « sorted out ». It wouldn’t be fun if it was that easy, right ?

    « I have an idea, » Zayn said, interrupting his train of thoughts. His tone, Louis noticed, was more calculated, as if he was hesitating as to wether he should say anything at all.

    « An idea ? »

    « Something you could work on. »

    « I’m _not_ dealing drugs, Zayn. »

    « Nah, you’re too white for that, coffee boy. »

    « Hilarious. What is it, then ? »

    « Mh, not now. Don’t want to talk. Just silence. »

    « Just silence, » Louis echoed, shifting closer to him.

    « You go all mellow when you’re high, » he added, less than thirty seconds later, unable to stay silent.

    « And you go all talky. Mouth never runs out. Fucking pain in the ass- »

    « Want to try something, » he blurted out, interrupting Zayn’s rant.

The latter didn’t bother to answer, but the quirk of his eyebrow, the right one, the more perfect one, was enough to show his interest. Louis took the joint that was resting between his fingers, enjoying the complete attention he was getting, and put it between his own lips, wetting them before inhaling. Zayn was watching him carefully as he got closer to him, and their faces were only a whisper away from each other before he seemed to pick up what was in Louis’ mind, smirking ever so slightly before parting his lips, right as Louis was blowing the smoke out and into his mouth. Zayn’s hand craddled the back of his neck, and Louis watched as his eyelashes slowly fell against each other, his eyes shut.

Zayn broke off first to exhale, but his hand never left his neck, and Louis suddenly wanted more. He could see the smoke billowing from his lips, and the thought that he was the one who put it there got him unexpectedly flustered. The blunt was still between his fingers when Zayn took it, inhaling the last of it, his cheeks hollowing enough that it was almost obscene for him to watch. But he kept watching, his eyes never leaving Zayn’s mouth.

Louis knew exactly what was going to happen, and he shut his eyes right as Zayn’s lips pressed against his own. He opened his mouth, and as his tongue swept inside, Louis could taste the smoke on Zayn, feeling it swirling in his own mouth. It was stale and bitter and _it tasted like Zayn_ , even if Louis never knew what Zayn tasted like before.

They kissed lazily, smoke leaving their parted lips whenever they needed to catch their breath, Zayn’s fingers lightly tugging on his hair and the forgotten joint burning between his fingers. When they parted, it felt like they had been kissing forever, and Louis was certain Zayn’s smell was all over him.

    « Best. Flatmate. Ever. » he said with a laugh, quickly joined by Zayn. He flicked the joint on the made up asthray (an empty indian takeaway box) and fell back on the couch, lazyness taking over him, his eyes slowly shutting.

    « And now, silence, » Zayn said.

>     « And now, silence, » Louis repeated.

 


	5. London Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Louis falls in love with a new place, finds a new purpose and gets new habits.

If Louis had been afraid of any rejection or awkwardness afterwards, none of that happened. In fact, nothing happened at all. Zayn didn’t treat him any differently and Louis, who feared having to pursue whatever he started in a more serious light, was extremely relieved. Yes, he came to realize, he really did have the best flatmate ever, one who wouldn’t ask questions when Louis would take place on his lap and seal his lips with his, one who would welcome him with no questions asked, whatever state he was in, and indulge whatever fantasy he had. Zayn was just good like that. And Louis enjoyed it, he enjoyed not having to question himself everytime his tongue would slip between his lips, playing, teasing, dancing against his own, he enjoyed the way his mouth tasted, the way his hair smelled, the way his skin colored with every shade of purple after Louis’ teeth would find home in his neck. There was never question of anything else and they both loved it, because Zayn was still, before anything and everything, his mate, his friend, his brother in a non-Jaime Lannister kind of way, he was still his bestfriend and it was great to know that no amount of kissing or problematic boners would ever change that.

So, really, his friendship with Zayn seemed perfect on every aspect. He was ready to do everything with this guy. And that was exactly what he did.

Louis had forgotten all about Zayn’s briefly mentioned « idea » when he put the subjet on the table again. And, again, it wasn’t without its share of nervousness that Louis didn’t fail to notice, which made him pay extra attention to whatever Zayn had to say. It just seemed important.

 

            « Alright big boy, I’m all ears, » he had said, encouraging Zayn to spill the beans.

 

But he didn’t spill anything. He didn’t even talk, getting up instead and walking to his room while Louis just sat on the sofa, no knowing what he was supposed to do. But Zayn quickly came back, his notebook in hand, the one full of sketches he had once showed him, the one he always kept close to him and sometimes spent hours drawing on, forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep, just pouring his heart and soul between the cartridge paper pages. And he was now handing it to Louis.

 

            « Is this some kind of marriage proposal ? Because I’m not saying no, but they usually do it with a ring. »

            « Just open it, dumbass. »

            «  _Just open it, dumbass,_  » he mocked, but nevertheless taking it and opening it.

 

There were more drawings than the first time he looked at it, alright. There was some pretty watercolor shit far from Louis’ area of expertise (that just didn’t include any form of painting or drawing at all), graffiti-style stuff, comic characters that looked familier but that he couldn’t recognize, and more random stuff that still didn’t explain why he was looking at it.

 

            « It’s pretty, » he tried, reaching for the safest answer. 

            « Did anyone ever tell you you’re dumb, Louis Tomlinson ? »

            « Never. »

            « Look closely. »

            « I am. »

            « You’re not. »

            « Okay fine, what am I supposed to see ? »

            « The, erm. Fuck’s sake, just look. »

 

He was on edge, Louis could feel it, so he decided not to push more and looked back at the drawings, still not knowing what he was looking for. The colors were pretty, the coup de crayon was nice, it was all great, except Louis really wasn’t an art expe-

 

            « Wait. »

 

That couldn’t.. ?

 

            « Don’t tell me it’s… » He finally looked up at Zayn, who was more nervous than ever, no matter how hard he was trying to look detached.

             « Yeah. Think it's good ? »

            « Shit, yeah ! Fuck, that’s amazing. »

 

He smiled at him and Zayn smiled back, and he instantly shot up from his chair to bring him into his arms. Zayn fell into the embrace, hugging him tighter, and Louis kept whispering « I’m so proud of you » softly against his ear. Oh he was bursting with pride.

 

            « When did this happen ? » he asked once they parted, taking the notebook again and looking closer at the publishing deal stuck to the last page.

            « A few weeks ago. I don’t know how but some publishing company heard of me and contacted me to see my drawings. They’re into that « launching independant artists » kind of thing, and they offered me a comic book deal. Didn’t want to tell before I was sure. » Zayn’s eyes were bright with happiness.

            « And you are now ? »

            « I am. »

            « Fuck. »

            « That’s what I said too. »

            « So how does this work ? I mean, they want you to draw their stories or what ? »

            « Actually… » Louis noticed he was nervous again. « It’s a creator-owned kind of deal. Basically, it means I’ll do – and own every part of the story. So work, characters, creations, plot, everything is mine, they only publish it. I get a paycheck for every publications – small, though, I guess it’s more symbolic than anything, but the fairest share of the royalties is mine. »

            « So we’re still poor ? »

            « As of now, yeah. But who knows, a kick-ass story might change that. »

            « You’d better start working on it, then, Zayn-o. I’m tired of eating noodles. »

            « That’s the thing. I want you to write it. »

 

He must have heard it wrong.

 

            « Me ? »

            « Uh-uh. »

            « Why ? 

            « Because you’re good, Louis, » he explained, and it felt like he was talking to a child. « I’ve seen the stuff you write, I could never do something as good. I kinda need you for this. »

 

He sat back down, the deal still in his hands. Fuck, Zayn wasn’t even realizing what this meant, what he was giving him. A purpose. He was offering him a purpose on a silver plate, something to work for, to expect, something that had actual meaning. Maybe it sounded like nothing to most, but not to him, and he didn’t know how to answer.

Zayn must have mistaken his stunned silence for hesitation, because he soon started frantically explaining ;

 

            « We’ll share everything, you’ll get half of the royalties, the checks, the lot ! I don’t want you to think that I’m only using you for my own purposes because I’m really not. I just thought that you would like something like that. To work with me. »

            « You fucking idiot, » he said before literally jumping into Zayn’s arms. « I’d love that. »

 

 ..  ..  ..

 

It took them almost two years to find the courage to leave Doncaster. It was harder for Louis ; Donny was home. Every street, evert corner was attached to some sweet memory he didn’t yet want to forget, and he believed that leaving, would, sooner or later, lead to forgetting. But change became necessary ; he didn’t want to spend the last of his days serving pumpkin spie lattes to faces that kept getting younger as he got older. Came a moment when he felt trapped in his own hometown, something he’d never thought he’d feel. Something he’d never wanted to feel.

 So at twenty-two, Louis unpacked his last box, ready to call London home.

Which didn’t happen right away.

As hard as life could get in Doncaster, he’d always felt like he belonged. When he had serious trouble, people would run to his aid, simply because they knew he’d do the same. If he wanted to go out, he’d text Stan and they’d to go a random pub where the bartender would greet them by name. If he went to the park he’d see the neighbour’s kid playing footie with friends and they’d call him and pass him the ball and cheer for him like he was some kind of hero. People would come to the café and stop for a chat before ordering and tip him generously before asking him to send their regards to his sisters and mum. It just felt like a big family all in all. London didn’t.

London was big, and scary, and different. He tried hard not to hate it but he simply couldn’t love it either. It wasn’t even because of something particular – he just felt incredibly homesick. He’d open his mouth and suddenly all heads would turn, he’d get looks for his thick accent, people would smile in a "I have no idea what you’re saying and I’m trying really hard not to show it" kind of way, and it would remind him, again and again, how far he was from home.

 Of course, he still had Zayn. Amazing, incredible Zayn, who never once complained when it was all that Louis did. Beautiful Zayn who found their flat and made sure they would both love it. Zayn who brought in the first paycheck after he handed the publishers their first draft (they’d stayed up all night to finish that one and celebrated it with an unforgettable blowjob).

Louis was grateful for Zayn.

 For his sake, he tried to like London.

It was really a slow process. There were days when it felt so good he wanted to brag to everyone just how fantastic life is. There were other days when it all became too much – those days when London feels too expensive, too crowded, too big, too far from he felt like he truly belonged.

But months after, and although he’d been realizing the change for the past year, as he’d watched London go by from the bus window one day it all became achingly clear : he wasn’t ready to leave this place. He really loved this place.

 After that life became sort of beautiful. It was far from easy – their comic had started well, but like for everything else, the hype had died down after the few first months. Luckily they’d been smart enough to put money aside, enough to secure rent. But some days were harder than the others, days when money was short, when food was missing, when they’d stay up for days and nights just to perfect a board. Still, he wouldn’t exchange that life for all the money in the world. He loved what they had, and it wasn’t as if the comic was doing bad, rather the opposite, actually. They’d just had to learn that much more hard work was needed than advertised, and two inexperienced northern boys shouldn’t expect to rise to stardom in a year just because they could spell and doodle (someone told them that once, and it was harsh, but Louis thought it real enough).

 They took side jobs when relying strictly on royalties to survive became virtually impossible. Zayn bartended in some little pub (and gave Louis free drinks whenever he visited, which was practically everyday). Louis tried working in a café again for a total of three days before handing back his apron and promising himself he would never, ever again, pump shots of coffee into a cup. He began collecting newspapers to check the adverts page, applying for anything that was remotely in his area of expertise ; he babysat, painted an old lady’s garage, did translation work, lifted heavy boxes and other seemingly meaningless little jobs that helped them not die of hunger. They managed. Hardly, but they managed.

 Louis still poured himself heart and soul onto their project. On his days off he’d usually pick a calm corner at some little coffee shop and work on their story until they had to close. It wasn’t something he used to do, not even when he was preparing for his exams at uni, but somewhere along the way, he picked that habit and stuck to it, although he couldn’t quite remember from whom.(Also, it felt nice going to one of these places and not having to serve anyone.)

 Today was one of those days when they had enough money to not bother about jobs. Zayn stayed at the flat, feeling most comfortable there, and Louis went out again, fully  equipped with tens of files full of research and his most beloved notebook. He felt quite confident about the next issue of their comic, like a seven point five out of then on the confidence-o-meter. He already had the whole plot outlined with Zayn, he just needed to polish it and work on the dialogues, which has always been his favorite part.

 He smiled at the barista who brought him his order, took a sip of his still burning tea, and put it down on the table with a sigh. It was good, but still nothing like Yorkshire tea, and he meant real Yorkshire tea made in Yorkshire. Northerners just did it better on that one.

 He brought his attention back to his work, uncertain about where to start. He closed his eyes, replaying the story in his mind. Their main character had just found out one of his closest relations had been lying to him, and he had to meet them the same day. He had to make it as to show his discomfort, the hurt and the feeling of betrayal, but not enough that the other character would become suspicious. He was walking on a fine line there.

 

            « Louis ? Louis Tomlinson ? » he heard a voice calling out, pulling him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes to look at the newcomer and his eyebrows shut up.

 

No way.

 

            « Harry ? » he asked, unsure, looking at the man standing in front of him. He had changed so much over the past years (It had been what, four years ? More ?), and yet it was unmistakenly him, looking at him with a tentative smile and bright green eyes.

 

He got up from his chair, ready to pull him into a hug, but caught himself in the last second. Upon seeing him, he was flooded with memories of the time they spent together, he’d almost forgotten they’d parted on relatively bad terms.

 Feeling awkward, he offered him his hand, and Harry looked at him with confusion as he took it in his own to shake it. Everything felt so weird.

 

            « I didn’t expect to come accross you in London of all places, » Harry said, after the silence got too awkward to handle.

            « I moved here last year with Zayn, » he saw Harry’s eyebrows perk at the name but he didn’t say anything, « Donny was getting a little too small for me. »

            « It doesn’t surprise me, » he grinned, and Louis felt a little warm. « You were always too much of a character to stay there forever. »

 

He didn’t know what to answer to that. He wondered if Harry still thought of their last time together, if, as he was exchanging pleasanteries and smiling at him, his mind was recessing their last fight just like Louis’ was doing.

 

            « You too, apparently, » he answered, maybe wanting to provoke him.

 

He looked startled for a bit, almost guilty, and his smile faltered.

 

            « Yeah, about that… » Louis almost felt sorry for him. «  I got a job offer and I kind of left in a hurry, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I would have. »

             « So I’ve heard. » He’d also heard Harry had left weeks after they last saw each other, so he could’ve talked to him if he wanted to. But he didn’t say any of that.

            « I’ve got to, » Harry started, trying a smile, « I have to go, actually. I only came down here to grab a coffee, but it was great seeing you. »

            « Yeah, you too, » he replied almost automatically.

            « No, I mean it, » he said, startling Louis. « I wondered about you sometimes. »

            « I did too. » At first, at least. But once again, he didn’t say what he had in mind.

            « We should meet up sometime, properly. I’d love to spend time with someone from home. Goodbye, Louis ! »

 

And just like that, he was out, his coffee cup in hand, too fast for Louis to remind him that they wouldn’t know where to reach each other if they wanted to. Then again, he wasn’t sure if they really did.


End file.
